


The Dragon Lord of Winter

by Wanna_Grenade



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23895934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wanna_Grenade/pseuds/Wanna_Grenade
Summary: Once, the Lands of Always Winter were bright and green, the Kingdoms of the First Men stood tall and mighty, and the race of Men was not all to walk this earth.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25





	1. Prologue

**Prologue**

_Once, the Lands of Always Winter were bright and green, the Kingdoms of the First Men stood tall and mighty, and the race of Men was not all to walk this earth._

***

Jon had never seen a throne in his lifetime. He had grown up in the ancient halls of the even more ancient Winter Kings and seen the dais where the throne of Winter would have sat. He had been to the ancestral seat of House Bolton and shuddered when he imagined how much blood had taken to forge that throne. He had dreamt what Aegon’s throne must look like with a thousand smelted swords taken from the hands of burnt men.

But, the throne before him now, didn’t match any of the preconceptions of what he thought a throne should be. It was tall, steep and several steps had to be taken to even reach its marble seat.

_I’ve been here before_ , he thought as he stared up at the marble white throne. In times past and times to be. As Jon looked upon it however, he realized it was not just pale because of the stone it was carved from. A cold wind drifted through the great empty hall, and Jon saw it for what it was. Snow fluttered from the high roof that had been broken in and atop the throne was a layer of virgin ice that had settled.

Snow had piled up in the corners of the hall and frozen icicles wrapped around the pillars like the hand of an old withered skeleton. Ancient statues of kings come and gone were toppled and broken. The light that shun though the shattered windows and broken ceiling was lifeless and eerie.

There before him sat a throne of kings and its hall was silent.

Jon then drifted from where he stood. He walked from the hall and to the great doors that arose higher than any giant. Runes of old were carved into the thick wood and bronze doors but, with a weak push, the immovable passage opened with an aching groan as ice shattered and frozen iron swiveled on aged bolts.

An overpowering bright light greeted Jon and for a moment he was blinded. Then his vision cleared as the glare left him. Before Jon, a dead and silent tree beckoned. For a moment Jon could imagine red leaves of blood like that of the Heart trees, but it was not that which the tree had grown, or what the tree may blossom into again.

Behind the great old tree, the horizon overlooked a snow-covered plain and even further a city upon a river, old and ruined, and further beyond, icy mountains that rose to blot out the winter sun. It was all so _cold_. Snow and ice seemed to had reached out to every corner of the land and shadows lingered in the remnants and Jon realized he had entered a dominion of cold shadow.

Jon took a step forward and another and another. In the hall, he used to feel weightless like a spirit. But now as he strayed further from the doors left behind and forgotten, he felt like he was carrying a mountain of stone on his shoulders. Jon found himself standing further ahead and looking down from the walls. What he saw took his breath away.

A great city like he had never seen or imagined was beneath him.

It was quiet.

The white city was quiet and buried under deep snow that Jon could only imagine from the old stories of terrible winters. Ice and frost layered the streets and buildings, many feet thick, and no light burned from darkened windows. But it wasn’t this that took his breath away. _No_ , he thought. _That can’t be…_

At the walls of the city, in the streets and stretching across the icy plain as far as the river, an army stood. The wind roared alive and a great blizzard picked up, covering the endless soldiers under drifts of icy hail. But they weren’t soldiers, were they?

Even from so high, he could see the rotting dead bodies that stood upright. Some were so decayed they were little more than skeletons. Children and grown men filled their endless ranks. A few seemed to bear loose rusted armor over their dead skinny frames while the overwhelming majority wore the faded fabrics of small folk.

Something called inside of Jon’s mind and he knew what he was seeing—the dead. A fear like none other began to creep into his bones as the darkness that had taken the land _looked_ at him. The world had stopped and he felt a million pairs of blue eyes watching him.

An unfamiliar primordial coldness washed over Jon and he found himself back stepping from the sight only to crash into something. He fell on his front and turned, but his surprise gave way to horror.

A creature of ice, pale skin, and eyes as cold as sapphire looked down on him. In the thing’s hand a blade of milky ice was unveiled. The White Walker rose its blade high and Jon’s instincts over took him. He no longer felt like he was dreaming as he rolled to his side, barely dodging the blade.

The cold winds at the top of this city buffeted Jon as he stood back up, avoiding another swing. Jon frantically moved away as the Other came upon him with an unnatural speed. A moment later, Jon felt a weight at his hip and he reached down to find a sheathed sword.

He wasted no time as he drew his newfound blade and met the creature’s own. A sword of pale ice met his own that glimmered like sapphires. A terrifying screech emerged from the clash, deafening his ears; but Jon forced himself to ignore it as he parried another slash. Jon was being forced back. The sword felt right in his hands but his body was small. His weak skinny arms were untrained and already exhausted and he felt _too_ _young._ His soul cried out in terror and Jon Snow knew no fear like this.

_“Say the name,”_ something whispered and distantly roared, “ _Say the name!”_ But he could not recall the name.

He brought up his blade to meet another strike but he didn’t bring it up in time. The Other’s icy sword ripped into Jon’s shoulder and he gave out a breathless gasp, dropping his blade. It fell on the snow blanketed ground and quickly the hail buried it. He fell to his knees and saw the Other raise its blade one last time. The blood that colored the thing’s blade was already frozen. Behind the creature he saw something even more horrifying.

A beast larger than anything he had ever seen. It’s scaly body and thick velvet wings were rotted and riddled with holes. The blue lizard like eyes of the dragon were as dead and cold as the Other. It roared just as the blade came down.

Jon woke up gasping. His hand reached out to shoulder and felt nothing but his own skin. He was warm. Oh, so warm. His vision was blurry with tears and he was breathing in large heaving gasps. His window was open and the cold northern wind sifted in. _“Blood of Then, Now and Soon,”_ a voice whispered in the back of his head just like the wind that echoed silently outside, _“you must go back.”_

_But go back where,_ Jon thought as he regained control of his breathing

Jon didn’t know what those words were calling for him to do. He slipped out of his bed and approached his window. He gazed out to the bright moon that hung over the northern clouds. Something deep inside of him was calling. Even though he may had been of only nine name days, he felt it deep in his heart.

_You must go back._

Jon gazed past the moon and to the north. There, he knew, far from his sight a great wall of ice guarded the realms of men. Jon knew what was beyond it now.

Jon went back to his bed after he had calmed himself. Slowly he drifted back into a fitful sleep. However, Jon was still too young. His mind was still clouded with fantasies of youth. So, in the morning, he forgot. In time, he stopped dreaming. Slowly, those memories faded and the whispers of an ancient past drifted into the night.

But fate did not forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by JuliantheUnknown
> 
> Title Cover: https://imgur.com/NV1URd1


	2. The Dreamt Call, the Black Boulder, and the White Wolf

**Chapter 1**

**The Dreamt Call, the Black Boulder, and the White Wolf**

Jon shifted in his worn saddle as his palfrey cantered under the cover of snow patched pine trees. A pile of sleet had grown too heavy on one limb and the branch bent under the glare of the northern sun. Jon felt the snow cuff his shoulder and collar. He groaned when the familiar rush of ice ran down his neck.

Jon shuddered and tugged at his jerkin, vainly trying to remove as much snow as possible. His little sister snickered atop her own horse while his brother laughed merrily. Jon scowled good-naturedly. “Do you two want some snow down your backs?”

Robb shook his head, smiling. “Not today, Jon.”

“It wasn’t an offer, Stark.” Jon said as he grabbed a handful of patchy snow from a tall bush and threw it at Robb. Robb cried out as the snowball hit him square in the chest and Arya roared in laughter. Jon took off then, knowing that his brother was going to repay the favor ten-fold.

His stallion galloped down the old beaten path, throwing clumps of sod and dirtied ice in its wake. He could hear Robb calling out for him and Arya following closely behind. A laugh escaped his lips when a blur of white zipped by, missing him by inches.

A bend in the road soon approached and Jon leaned to the right as he made a tight turn. A flash second later and he ducked under a thick low branch. Jon gasped out as its pine needles scraped the crest of his head but he urged his horse on. The frigid wind bit his face leaving him flushed and his cheeks splotchy and heated.

Jon heard a bellow of retribution not so far behind and he pushed his steed into a tilted gallop. Up ahead he saw a running creek and he spurred his horse on again, hurdling them over the rushing divide.

It was then Jon tugged at the reins causing his palfrey to rear in a stop. The horse snorted and pranced in the pebbled water bank. A moment later, Robb and Arya loped out of the thick brush and came upon him, their own snowy weapons in their hands. Jon dismounted and stretched out his arms. “I don’t know any Lord who would attempt to make a crossing under the waiting eye of the enemy! Don’t commit such folly, my Lord, I do so beg of you! Although, I am a merciful Lord, perhaps I could be convinced to offer a truce.”

Robb looked thoughtful. “I wasn’t the one to start this war.”

“Aye, but who has the upper hand? Surrender and you may keep your honor and dignity spared from being soaked wet!”

Robb cocked his head. “Hm, very well, Snow. I agree to these terms.”

Jon grinned as he bowed. “A most excellent agreement.” A moment later he was hit with a clump of icy hail. Jon gave his sister a dirty look. Arya shrugged, nonchalantly. “Well I didn’t agree.”

Jon shook his head, but smiled.

Arya giggled as she tugged her reins and maneuvered his horse to a lower area of the river. Robb followed and they made their crossing as Jon tied his horse to a nearby tree. A gust rushed down the valley and Jon shivered at its frozen touch.

His siblings joined him a moment later as Jon began to set up a small fire. Jon looked at Arya as she sat down with a _humph_ , the two of them basking in the moment. Arya gave him one of her small smiles only reserved for him as he handed her a grey rock to help him with a small iron bar. It wasn’t much longer before Arya was dirtying herself trying to light the fire but her strikes with the rock earned no sparks. Jon snorted at her attempts, knowing Robb was silently laughing. He hadn’t given her a flint stone. 

Arya was his favorite sibling and was in no way cleanly or ladylike. When they were children, it was Arya who always snuck into his room at night. They would tell each other stories and pretend to be knights of the realm. _I’m the ser, and you’re the maid,_ Arya would say when they played the games of a damsel in distress.

_Oh, then my lady ser, tell me of what House you hail from?_ Jon would respond, leaving Arya in tears. In most cases, calling his youngest sister a lady was a great way to earn some new bruises. But when Jon would impersonate their oldest sister Sansa as best as he could and play the maiden, Arya would forget that title and all there would be was laughter.

Arya was the girl that always had her dresses muddied and had her knees scraped messing about. Jon loved her for it. This all meant that she always came to Jon when she wanted to do something not Lady like. Jon felt obliged to teach her. Although that didn’t mean he couldn’t pull his own pranks on her every now and then, right?

Arya scowled and went to toss the rock in frustration before Jon grabbed her hand. “You know what rock this is?”

“It’s flint. It’s just not working.” She said, her eyes flickering with confusion.

“No, it’s just some rock.”

Arya’s mouth gaped slightly before she punched him. Robb laughed and Jon brought his sister in a tight embrace as she futilely struggled against him. “Oh, ha ha, very funny.” She scowled.

“Well,” Robb said. “You would had saw through it if you knew what a flint stone looked like.”

“Well, how do you know?” Arya asked. “They all look the same.”

Jon pulled out his small satchel a real piece of flint and handed it over to Robb. “Well it’s grey or black and glossy, don’t forget hard. And it should always spark at least once if you do it right.” Robb unsheathed his sword slightly. Golden vibrant embers flew off as he coursed the piece of flint swiftly down the flat of the blade. “That’s always how I tell.”

“Yes,” Jon quipped, “Because if you find some berries you think are edible, you go ahead and try them to find out. Not everyone has steel on hand. Gods be good, no wonder Father didn’t let you wear real steal until you were two and ten.” Robb scoffed in response and crossed his arms. Arya took the flint rock back.

“You know, Arya, our Great, Great Grandmother was a Flint. You share her name.” Jon told his younger sister. “She was born to House Flint, a proud house that knows how bad winters can get more than any other house. Even our own.” _Winter is coming,_ Jon thought of the Stark’s house words then. He could see Arya was thinking it too.

“You carry her blood. The blood of the north and the old winter kings. You should honor her.” He wrapped her hand around the flint rock. “Keep it. Besides, you need to learn how to set a fire properly anyways. You can’t always go around borrowing someone else’s strikers.”

Arya nodded as she began to work at the fire again. This time she managed to do it, considering she actually had a real flint rock this time. Within a few minutes the small fire was blazing hot and the three of them were stuffing small logs and kindling into it. The warmth helped them weather the cold as they relaxed on the bank of the creek, basking in the warm glow.

Arya sighed from where she laid on the ground and she turned her head to look at Jon. “Bran stole all my herbs the other day. He hid them and I still can’t find them. Can we go find some Mill’s Poppy, later? I read the Dornish use it a lot.”

Jon chuckled. “Yes, they do. You heard right. But Mill’s Poppy is a poison and I don’t think Father or your Mother would like to see you making a Dornishman’s venom. Maester Luwin included.”

Arya’s face lit up deviously. “Who says they need to know. I bet The Dornish Queen, Nymeria had learned how to mix poisons at some point! Besides, the northern strain heals instead, or at least that’s what I read. Wouldn’t mother want me to know that?”

“I’m starting to regret helping you on this little hobby of yours,” Jon groaned. Arya always had a great interest in things outdoors. Recently that had expanded to learning of plants and their purposes. It was something her mother had allowed her believing Arya meant she was interested in the lady like hobby of gardening in the glass gardens. She should had known that Arya did not mean any of that.

“Why would you want to learn herbs and alchemy anyways, when you do something that’s much more fun?” Jon asked. “How about I show you how to fight with a sword, huh?”

Arya’s face immediately brightened. Arya was not like her older sister Sansa who loved embroidery and the activities of women. Arya loved to fight and brawl with the boys. She was all scraped knees and dirtied dresses. She was northern through and through. Some even said she was Lyanna Stark reborn, their Aunt who was stolen by the Targaryans.

Out of all their siblings it was Jon and Arya that looked the most like their father. Robb, Sansa, Bran and Rickon all had their mother’s red Tully hair and Riverlander blue eyes. Only little of their father’s features were in their faces. But Jon and Arya had the grey eyes of all the Starks before them. Their hair was a brown nearing black and their faces were long and rugged. Although, Jon’s face was somewhat more refined with his high cheekbones and smooth jaw. If anyone was to guess, it came from his mother.

“Here.” Jon stood up and grabbed some stick off the ground and lightly threw it too Arya. “There’s your sword.”

“A great sword for a great warrior.” Arya said solemnly. She held the stick that was nearly as long as she was tall before striking at Jon.

Jon quickly backtracked and dodged her strike. Robb had stood up by then and Jon grabbed his brother, throwing him between them. “Hey!” The stick whacked into Robb’s arm giving Jon time to grab his own from the ground and parry Arya’s next strike.

“Jon!” Arya squealed in mock annoyance when he disarmed her. The wooden stick she had been waving around flew into the flowing creek with a loud _plunk._

“Arya,” Jon said. “You got to hit smarter, not harder.”

Jon grabbed another stick and threw it into Arya’s waiting hands. “You know, I’m still surprised you got pass father and convinced him to let you join us. After all Its mid-day. Shouldn’t you be with the Septa?”

Arya grimaced as Robb shifted and picked up his own newly forged wooden sword, revenge clearly on his mind for his brother’s betrayal. “I think our dear sister made some _rude_ comments towards Sansa. Septa Mordane has been fawning over Sansa since this morning. She has no time for Arya’s _antics_.”

“Exactly.” Arya agreed. “It’s not like it was mean anyways. I just told her that maybe if she stopped acting like a lady, she would have some _real_ fun.”

Robb gave Jon a look. “By not being a lady, she means ‘Not acting like a snotty brat.’”

“I didn’t say that!” Arya said. Her tone screamed otherwise.

“Wait until Father hears. We all know you said exactly that.”

Arya huffed. “Well its true!”

Jon laughed. “Yes, it is. But it’s not right to tell her to her face.” Jon, however did find it funny. Sansa was a times a brat in all the lady-like fashion. She just could never admit it and Jon would never say such a thing aloud. Although, he had to do the right thing and reprimand Arya.

“She and Jeyne called me Horse-face again, Jon!” Arya argued.

“So, tell your mother,” Jon retorted. “Don’t make it worst.”

“It was her fault though!”

Jon gave Arya a disappointed glance. “Does it matter who’s fault it is? Father would say a man who acts with dishonor in kind is just as at fault as he who sullied his honor first.”

“Fine.” The voice of resignation hung loosely.

Jon smirked and Robb chuckled. “Now brother,” Robb gestured with his own stick. “Throwing me against Arya was just not a nice brotherly thing to do. Would you care to let me have my revenge?”

“You’re on, Stark.” Jon lifted his own stick, ready to pounce.

“Oh please, Snow.”

If there was one thing Jon could be proud of was his swordsmanship. He was a menace in the yard and despite all of Robb’s swagger, Robb could never beat Jon. No, where Robb exceled in war was on the tactics of the battle. When they were younger, they have mock battles with Robb winning two times out of three. Jon only won if he had greater numbers by thrice-fold and it was always at great cost. Robb was the mastermind when it came to planning but Jon was the natural on the field.

It all proved true here. Robb was good as he kept Jon on his toes. But as Jon parried all his strikes and thrusts, he also saw through all his half-brother’s feints. Robb wasn’t so lucky. To the sound of Arya’s cheering, Jon faked a stumble. Robb slashed at Jon’s seemingly unguarded left but Jon was already moving. A split-second later Robb had overextended himself and Jon passed through Robb’s attack and ended with the tip of his stick at his brother’s throat.

“Do you yield brother?” Jon asked.

Robb grunted. “Aye, I do.”

Jon smirked as he retracted his stick from his brother’s throat. He turned around to gloat with Arya when he received a sharp smack to his rear. Jon roared, “Hey!”

“Now that’s for throwing me in the way of that beast of a sister.” Robb said, earning a giggle from Arya.

Jon huffed but with good amusement.

“Teach me!” Arya said. “I don’t want to learn stupid embroidery like Sansa. I want to learn how to fight.” Jon and Robb looked at each other.

“Of course, sweet sister.” Jon said.

Arya’s lesson went well. After all, Jon had shown her how to hold a sword in the dead of night before. Usually she would knock on his door on a full moon and they would sneak out to the Godswood for some bouts. Robb was not surprised.

Jon however, still took his time showing Arya how to swing a wooden stick around. Of course, her stances were flimsy as were her swings due to the incontinency of their lessons and the lack of real weight a branch had in comparison to a real sword much less a weighted wooden one. But she enjoyed every moment of it. Even more so when Jon or Robb would let her get a jab in or a swipe in on them.

Eventually though the sun began to wane. Jon and Robb knew it was time to go and coaxed Arya from her ‘sword’ lesson. They snuffed out the small fire and mounted their horses. Soon they began to make their way back to Winterfell though the deep ancient woods.

***

An hour later, the sun was sinking into the horizon of the wolfswood. They were about a couple of leagues away from Winterfell and were making good time.

“It’s stupid that I can’t practice archery like Bran.” Arya grumbled from beside her brothers.

“Well, in the words of your mother, you’re a ‘lady.’” Jon said.

“I’m not a lady!”

“Tell that to her.” Robb retorted. “Besides, you’re still a better shot than Bran.”

Arya’s brow furrowed in frustration. “I could get even better if they let me practice. The Mormonts let their women practice sword play and archery. They wear steel plate and fight all the time!”

“That’s because the Mormonts suffer the worst of wilding raids.” Jon replied. “Soon, I’ll be standing beside the brothers of the Night’s Watch and I will be fighting wildings too.”

Jon looked at Arya. “Just so you won’t have to fight them,” he said.

“But if I knew how to fight them, then you wouldn’t have to go all the way to the wall.” There was that voice again, quiet and heavy with emotion. Arya loved Jon, and ever since she was old enough to understand that Jon’s dream would mean they wouldn’t see each other again for the most part, left Arya angry and sad.

When Arya was younger, she had run to Jon believing they she too was a bastard because they were the only ones who looked like their father; And, in her eyes, Jon was her big brother. How would she live without him in her life?

“I will have to be a Man of the Night’s Watch, Arya. It’s the only place I can find honor as a bastard.”

“You have honor already,” Robb quickly maneuvered his horse and stopped in front of Jon. The three of them came to a halt and the echo of the creatures of the woods surrounded them. “You are my brother. And you have more honor than most men—ever dutiful. You don’t need to serve on the Wall to find something worthy of yourself – you already are.”

Jon shifted his weight in his saddle and his face contorted with frustration. He came out with the desire to have fun today and relax. Not open up old, festering wounds. “Well Robb, what do you suppose I am to do? The only reason I’ve been able to grow up in Winterfell is because of Father. What happens when he has to go for whatever reason? Lady Stark will never allow me to stay!”

“If Father ever leaves, I will be Lord of Winterfell. You will find further honor at my hall.” Robb said as if it all made perfect sense.

“I won’t take a position of your household Robb because I’m your brother. Besides, I _am_ a bastard of House Stark.” Jon growled. “I won’t suffer pity and I will not further dishonor House Stark.”

“What does that mean? When will it make it through your thick head that I am your brother? You are my brother. You are Arya’s brother. And Bran’s and Rickon’s. Even Sansa’s despite how much she would like to deny it.”

“I—”

Arya cut Jon off. “Uh… wha—what’s that?” Jon heard growling.

Jon and Robb looked to where Arya was pointing. Beside the thick brush and atop of large black boulder not far away from them was a white wolf crouched on its hind legs. A very large wolf. A Direwolf. The sigil of House Stark and most certainly living up to the legends. The wolf was as large as a war horse despite being low to the ground, ready to pounce.

Jon wasted no time as did Robb. He pushed Arya behind him and the two brothers drew their sharp steel swords. Their horses snorted in fear and Jon struggled to keep his under control.

“Arya. If it comes at us, you ride.” Robb whispered with fearful anticipation.

For a moment all Jon heard was the steady blowing of the wind, the rustling leaves and his frantically beating heart. The increasing _dump thump dump thump_ rung in his ears as he felt Arya hold on behind him. Despite his panicked tunnel vision, he noticed Arya had a stick in her hand in spite of how much she was shaking.

_Brave little wolf._ She was his fierce little sister even now.

But as the moment passed further and further, the wolf just stood there, watching. The Direwolf’s blood red eyes surveyed them with an almost human like intelligence. It’s growl gave way to a low whine. Jon felt that the wolf was watching them not as prey to eat but as something else. _That,_ sent a fierce bolt of fear through him.

Then the wolf moved. It arose to an even more frightening height and turned around to saunter back into the woods. Jon thought it was just leaving them. The wolf seemed to think that they weren’t worth it’s time and to be honest, Jon wasn’t going to take that as a slight. But rather, it stopped mid-way in the thick snowy foliage and it looked back as if it wanted them to follow.

Like a hammer crashing down on an anvil, the revelation rung through Jon in an instant. The winds began to pick up and Jon heard a low whisper of _something_ speak to him _._ Jon suddenly understood.

_Follow me_.

Yet, Jon’s fear outweighed the revelation. The wolf visibly glared at Jon as if annoyed, before it slipped into the brush. The snowy cover quickly blended in with the white wolf and then it was gone.

Jon let go of a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. His hands were shaking and he could see it was the same with Robb. The two looked at each other and Jon unconsciously pulled his sister in a tighter hug she had just gave him.

“Winterfell,” Jon croaked.

Robb nodded dumbly. “To Winterfell.”

The three of them left then. No words were exchanged as they all contemplated how close to death they had been. _If that direwolf had chosen to hurt them…_ But that thought was quickly thrown aside. Jon knew in his heart that the wolf hadn’t intended to hurt them in the slightest.

Jon felt unsettled at that realization.

In the distance, they heard rumbling. It was startling and Jon was surprised to see dark storm clouds creeping down from the west. It had been clear skies not too long ago. The squall was moving fast. They began to hasten their already fast pace.

As they moved closer to Winterfell, Jon kept thinking on and on about what had happened. A voice, he had heard. But it must had been his imagination, in a moment of panic. Jon tried to submerge himself in the cold air, the smell of the pines, and the sound of the rustling leaves; to calm him.

Yet, it all felt too familiar and for some odd reason he kept looking back.

***

Jon breathed out a sigh of relief when he saw the tall strong walls of Winterfell. The storm that had flown in from the sea crackled like an angry god. The air was thrumming with tension and Jon had not wanted to be caught out when the wrath of the heavens came down.

“My Lord Robb, glad to see you lot back before that beast came down.” The Winterfell guards greeted them as their small party entered the great castle. Robb nodded in agreement. Jon kept Arya beside him. The high walls of the inner curtain walls loomed over them. Jon knew while they could beat back ten thousand men, they couldn’t beat back the sudden storm that had picked up.

Jon’s jaw locked as he wondered what this may mean and what the gods may now intend. It could not be coincidence with the timing of direwolf appearing south of the wall in gods knew how long.

_Ill tidings._

Robb dismounted first and Jon followed. Arya threw herself off her own horse as Jon let the stable boy take his own by the reins. “Do you think—”

Jon stopped her. “We mention nothing.” He looked to Robb. “Right?”

“Aye,” he said. Robb turned to look behind them at the gates closing with a solid trembling thump. Robb was clearly still unsettled. “Nothing.”

***

That night, Jon began to dream. He stood in his small clothes, knee deep in snow. Strangely, he didn’t feel anything despite how the tall trees bent under fierce gales of sleet and wind. Jon turned to the side and in the distance, he could see a familiar spot in the woods amidst a world of white and grey.

A black boulder with a thick layer of snow covering it sat on the edge of the wilderness brush. Drifts of snow sifted up in waves as the storm raged harder. He had encountered the direwolf here.

But this was a dream. He had nothing to fear this time.

Jon took the path the wolf had gone that day. He pushed aside the brush and sought for clues. The snow, despite being bombarded with hail, revealed sunken pockets of a large animal’s paws. Jon followed them.

The journey was long. He never stumbled or tripped. An ethereal hazy moonlight guided Jon’s way. Eventually, he pushed aside a final great swash of brushwood and found himself in a meadow. Or at least it would be if it was summer.

The small outcropping was blanketed with virgin white snow. Surrounding the clearing were towering pine trees, watching like silent sentinels, unmoved by the squall. The moonlight pierced through the stormy angry sky and Jon could see a swash of bright stars through the thinning clouds. The wind seemed to be unable to reach here and the snow fell sparsely.

At the center of it all, a great heart tree stood proud. It was old and its pale bark had a carved face, crying tears of blood. The crimson red leaves rustled under a light breeze. Jon looked upon it and approached.

He came before the Heart tree’s base and found himself draw to its roots. They were thick and unruly stumps that were thicker than Jon’s own waist. They dug deep into the ground seeing to nurture themselves with the blood of the earth. Yet, Jon found a gap in the thick trunks of wood and he soon realized it was large enough for him to slip into. He looked in and spotted a cavern, dim and dark below.

The winds began to pick up then. Jon ripped himself from the trunks and stood up in a flash. From where he came, he saw the white wolf. The direwolf’s blood red eyes watched him, waiting.

_Come._

Jon wanted to cry out but he felt petrified. For a moment he wondered if he had finally frozen solid as he should had rightfully been out in the cold like he was. The winds picked up into a piercing howl. The pine trees began to bend under the strain and snap. The wolf perked up to join in the call of the wild.

Jon woke up with a gasp.

He could hear the howl of the white wolf in the distance over the roaring call of a blizzard pounding on Wintefell’s gates. His window shutters shook under the strain and the icy breath of the cold snowy storm brought in by the sea flooded the room. Jon ignored it all.

_Come,_ the word repeated in his head like a bell ringing at sundown. _Come. Come. Come!_

Jon threw himself out of the bed. He couldn’t understand what the call was but he swore he would find out. He threw on thick clothes lined with heavy furs quickly. He grabbed a small bag and stuffed it with tinder and fuel for fire, including more essentials. Jon buckled on his sword and threw on his cloak. A moment later he slipped out his room. He was glad he no longer slept in the same wing as his siblings.

Jon slinked through the hallways of Winterfell with nary a sound. It didn’t take long before he was in the snowed in courtyard. He shuddered as the winds picked up but he pushed through. Jon took a torch from the walls and tucked in his cloak.

Yet, it was then reason returned to Jon. There was no way he could get through the main gates and no horse would make it through this blizzard. This was the sort that froze men alive. Even the most experienced of Night’s Watch rangers and Northmen would not dare brave this weather.

Jon cursed at his foolishness. Frustration swelled in his belly and he marched back indoors, already covered head to toe in snow. He didn’t know why but he _needed_ to find out what was under that tree. The dream Jon had left him desiring for answers and pushed him over an edge he didn’t realize he was standing on.

But he would have to wait. Jon returned to his bed and tried to sleep.

He couldn’t.


	3. The Painted Cave

**Chapter 2**

**The Painted Cave**

The storm lasted a week and only after a handful days of repairs did the work begin to clear up. After the storm had passed, the whole of Winterfell participated in the repairs. It was a freak blizzard unseen in decades and many whispered that it was a prelude of what was to come. Afterall, a long summer demands a long winter.

Yet this storm had come from the west, not the north. Perhaps it was just that, a freak storm. Yet that could not undo the damage done nor would the Starks of Winterfell ignore this warning. Lord Stark most of all refused to forget this sign.

The blizzard left in its wake half a dozen feet of snow. It was so much Jon truly wondered how his ancestors dealt with terrible snowfalls like this. If the long winter storms were as fierce as this one, he couldn’t fathom how they could feed their families or collect the wood needed to stay warm. _They went hunting,_ Jon thought and grimaced.

He was now beginning to understand what older men meant by him being a summer child.

Jon worked from dawn to sundown. His brother Robb was at the forefront like Jon as they shoveled snow and repaired thatched roofs that had collapsed. Many of the horses had perished overnight and Jon was disappointed to find his own had succumbed to the cold. Herdsmen from the local lands had trekked to Winterfell to ask for sanction, having lost the entirety of their cattle or goats.

_Winter is coming._ Winterfell really hadn’t been prepared for this sudden blizzard—this small taste of winter. Even Maester Luwin had been shocked such a storm had assaulted the North so soon and already was writing to the Citadel for a new estimate on the coming winter.

During this time Jon continued to think on his dreams. The great heart tree still often slipped into his nightly visions but it was no longer as clear the first time. The dreams were hazy and often fleeting. It was more like a reminder, one that Jon intended to follow through on.

It was also something that Jon for some odd reason did not feel compelled to mention. Not even his closest sibling Arya was privy to his thoughts. Why tell anyone until he had some sort of idea of what he was dreaming of, right?

Eventually the long days of repairing Winterfell came to an end. Jon went to bed exhausted. He fell asleep with a cooped-up teary eyed Arya that had suffered too much of their sister’s taunts that day curled up beside him. His dreams were absent of anything strange but when he awoke, he found he still desired to find the heart tree. Jon woke up his little sister and went down to break his fast, he began to plan his journey at last.

***

The trudge was long and hard. Nothing like his dream. Jon groaned and cursed as he tripped. He pushed himself up and kept moving. It took a bit to convince his father but he made it on the guise of surveying the local villages and argued that he was also meant to be a man of the Night’s Watch. He had to learn how to travel through deep snowfall.

It _was_ good practice.

A gentle snowfall had begun. The clouds were light and scarce. They were the dwindling leftovers of the storm two days ago. It was still cold though and the winds were still blowing.

Jon sighed in relief when he found the black boulder. It was just like in his dream, covered in snow. Jon took the path he took before in his dreams now knowing where he truly was. He delved deeper into the woods. His snowshoes had been a boon when on the old roads and deer paths but were handicaps when trying to squeeze past a tangle of bushes, fallen trees and thistles. He was forced to take them off and slog through the deep snow.

It was nearing the peak of the sun’s zenith when he cleared the dense forest. He was back in the clearing of his dreams. The mere sight caused Jon to feel a thrill of anticipation. It was _real_.

The heart tree towered over him. It was larger than he dreamt. Bright ruby red leaves swept up into the air at a low blast of wind. Jon scowled when he saw that the base of the tree was buried in snow. _More shoveling._ Jon sighed as he began to search for some sticks that he could make a crude shovel from.

An hour later and Jon was digging up the snow and ice that hid the entrance he found in his dreams. As he did so he wondered just what was inside there. Was it the wolf’s den? Was he to help free it? Or was there something else?

Jon had no answers and he pressed on with his work intent on finding some.

Eventually he felt the sudden nothingness when he shoved his shovel into the snow. He lifted it once more and the pile began to clear revealing the beginning of an entrance. Jon sped up his work even further, excited.

Jon peeked his head and inside to see it was dark. He waited a bit for any signs of wolves. When he saw and heard nothing, he began to prepare a torch. He slid inside and brought his shovel with him just in case he was snowed in. Jon was shocked to be greeted by warm air.

The entrance had led to a small tunnel that curved deep into the earth. The walls were riddled with roots and wet soil. _They’re damp._ It was as if the tree roots were sweating. They were covered entirely with gleaming moisture.

The tunnel seemed to breathe and for a moment Jon could imagine it was alive. Jon could swear that the walls pulsed with life for a brief second. A silent groan whipped up from ahead that Jon recognized as some form of wind echoing. Jon was both unnerved by the sound and spurred on by the thought. His desire to understand what his dream was calling him for wavered. Jon for a moment wondered what he was doing here. But he crushed that thought ruthlessly.

The dream was true. He had to see to the end of this, right?

With that Jon pushed into the darkness. The light of his torch guided the way as he moved around crumbled rocks and dodged hanging roots. He ran his hand along the walls and the smooth wet tree roots which gradually turned into jagged black stone that shined like polished armor under the light of his torch. _Obsidian_ , some part of his mind answered.

Time went on and he notice a shift in elevation. The path became narrow and the slope steep. Slowly, the air began to get unbearably hot. He could feel a warmth that wasn’t worldly. Just as he began to think he could no longer endure the heat; he spotted a glimpse of light. A heartbeat later he entered a large cavern.

The cave was a large and formed a dome with marble like onyx walls that reached higher than probably the first keep. He couldn’t see the top. It was so high it was shrouded with darkness. The torch light reflected off the polished walls lined with crystals that appeared to hum in response to his torch’s dim light. Divots In the wall flashed at the movement of his torch, revealing engraved carvings. Jon saw countless lines of old text written in ancient northern tongues, some having withstood the censure of time and others faded beyond all recognition.

At the center there was a great pool of water that bubbled and gave off light plumes of steam. The water was dark and Jon could tell it was deep. He wondered if it was a spring and the water filtered out to somewhere or if it was from countless years of water seeping through cracks in the walls, warmed by something else. He did notice drops of water falling from the darkened roof.

Strangely Jon felt disappointment. He couldn’t understand why he felt the emotion. Some part of him thought he would find an old wizard or secret cache of gold like the stories, but those were just that—stories. Yes, the chasm was a wonder in itself and another-worldly sight but his answers to his strange dream were supposed to be here. But they weren’t. His search lasted a while, as he turned over old boulders, searched the confines of the cracks in the walls and reached blindly for anything in the steaming hot pool but found nothing. Perhaps there was something in its depths but it was far to deep and hot for Jon to make an attempt.

It was then he examined the walls for any clues but he couldn’t understand him. The ancient runes were most definitely in the same vein as the ones the First Men used but some things were a little off. Words that Jon would may had recognized were written slightly different and additional symbols had been added to others. _The First Men must had used this as a chamber for something. No doubt some archaic ritual. Maybe it was a part of Winterfell too? After all Winterfell is built on hot springs and this seems like one,_ he mused.

Jon contemplated that perhaps he could try to decipher them. They were left here for a reason. But did he really want too? What had his dream even meant? He could spend years in here trying to uncover these runes. Maesters had spent decades of their life translating lost ancient languages. Jon was no Maester and had no intent to become one.

At last he came to an isolated section amidst the walls of runes. It was covered with a thick layer of what Jon would assume was soot. Jon wiped at it, curious as to why it was so different from rest of the cavern walls.

His work gave way to an odd image. It was a lonely depiction, withdrawn and hidden in the shadows. A crudely drawn man stood beside a tree without leaves. He held a blade that had lost its color but if Jon squinted it looked to be some form of blue. Another man stood nearby but it was pale and faded beyond repair to truly identify it.

Underneath it a single symbol was written in bold white; but again, he could not understand it. Perhaps it was title for the image?

Jon felt like it was oddly familiar but he couldn’t make a connection. He sighed as he turned away. Eventually he sat down beside the water’s edge and gave out a huff of defeat. He watched the small warm waves break on the stony shoreline.

_I will have to solve this out. These are my answers._ Jon realized and felt frustration well up. _I was never a scholar._

As Jon stood up, he took a glance back at the walls. Strange daunting words glared back at him and the image seemed to call out to him. A peculiar sense of determination overcame him. He would solve this mystery.

***

Jon returned to Winterfell a week later. He spent a good time thinking on the cave as he surveyed the nearby villages. He continually thought on the image and its sole rune. The other texts were beyond Jon’s ability to understand but the single rune was a task he could put himself up to.

Jon however was saddened with his duty. He had found out while on his survey of the local lands that the majority of his father’s people had suffered greatly with lost livestock, destroyed buildings and dead family members. It had been a nightmare for their people.

He made his report to his father as soon as he passed through Winterfell’s gates. His father took it all in, solemn and grim like the Lord he was. His father thanked him for his help and with that Jon left his father’s solar with leave to do as he liked for the next couple of days.

Coming down from the solar he intended to begin his search on the cave. Robb was clearly about elsewhere and Jon didn’t feel like being found empty handed of duties else Lady Stark might just give himself something to do. If he held himself up in the library, he could avoid all.

“Jon!” Jon turned about to take in the small ball smacking into him. “I’m so glad you’re back!”

Jon laughed as he pulled his sister in a hug. “It’s good to be back, how was it while I was gone?”

“Boring.” Arya’s lip curled in disgust. “Mother had me sewing the entire time you were gone! But I don’t care about that. How were the lands?”

He recounted his journey with Arya. She too was saddened to hear about the damage to their country. So, Jon had switched to recounting about how traveling in deep snows was like. She had been excited to hear of his small journey but Jon kept out the part of searching out for the cave. He knew that revealing that could leave to great trouble. Jon honestly still didn’t know if the wolf was lurking around there but if he let Arya know, she would demand to come with him and Jon refused to put his sister in possible danger.

Besides, Jon felt like he should uncover the cave himself. It was a bit odd but Jon sort of thought that with his dream, the cave was meant for him. Why mention it until he knew what it all meant?

By the time Arya and Jon split ways it was already nearing supper. Jon would not end up in the library that day. Rather he would find himself at a long dinner and ultimately his bed.

***

That night, he dreamt of a hall of marble. _I’ve been here before,_ he thought as he stared up at the white throne. _When I was a boy._ It had been years since he had walked in these halls. He used to dream of them for nights on end, yet he never could uncover why.

_Maybe now I will,_ Jon though. His mind drifting to the cave beyond the black stone. His memory of this dream was hazy with gaps in it. He couldn’t recall what was beyond the doors of the keep.

Jon let his feet carry him. To his sides, the stone statues of men gazed upon him as if they were judging him. Yet, he gave them no attention as he glided over to the great doors of the keep. They were tall and as beautifully designed as the rest of the hall. But it was overshadowed by the darkness in the room. These halls use to be bright, now it felt suffocating and cold and dark.

The double doors slowly gave way and he was met with a blinding light. Jon felt himself withdraw and the world seemed to shudder in fear. Then, the light receded and he could see.

Before him was a courtyard. At its center, a familiar great dead tree greeted him. It’s pale bark was a backdrop to the far more pale land beyond it.

_No._

The memory began to return to him and Jon hurried to look beyond the cliffside wall. He felt instant dread when he saw the mass of bodies that stood silently in the great drifts of snow beyond. _No, no this is a dream,_ Jon tried to reassure himself.

But a dream did not breath and touch like life. Here he could feel the bite of the cold, hear the crunch of snow underneath him and could smell the pure ice in the air. Beyond all that, he could sense the growing dread in the air, the shadow of a magnificent horror looming over him. He dared not cry for the gods in that instant for Jon knew then that even the gods feared this place.

He felt it before he saw it. Jon’s hand went to the sudden appearance of a sword at his waist and drew it from its sheath. He turned and brought his sword to bare. The sapphire blade glowed in the dim light of a dead sun.

The White Walker who had tormented him in his dreams as a boy watched him impassively. Jon felt the cold blow and he began to wonder if he had slept and awoken truly amongst this cursed land.

“What do you want?” Jon asked. The creature made no movement. Its own blade was hung loosely in its grip. A minute passed and Jon grew concerned. The winds suddenly picked up with a heavy roar and then it _moved._

Jon barely managed to get his sword up in time to parry the sudden blow. Jon grunted at the sheer force behind it. Jon was instantly on the defense but he had long improved from the last time he dreamt this dream. Jon evenly blocked each strike from the creature and slipped in his own attacks when he could.

Jon backpedaled as he dodged another strike and swiped at the White Walker’s feet. Jon felt a rush of satisfaction when his bade bit into the creature’s skin, causing it to stumble. He followed through with an overhead swing but the demon twisted out the way. Jon gasped when he felt its own icy blade cut his side.

Jon was suddenly doused with ice and his blood ran cold. He gritted his teeth as he backed out of the now limping creature’s range, making a quick jab to put distance between him and the creature. The two watched each other in the roaring wind. Jon knew that he was going to fall in this dream, this _vision._ The cold was getting to him and Jon was beginning to feel his strength wane. Jon was hurting terribly and he wondered if this was how it felt to truly be stabbed.

Again, they met and Jon roared out a cry as he threw all his might in the first swing. The White walker buckled under the strain of the clash and Jon kicked it in its chest, the pain of his own injury arcing through him. The White Walker rolled with the kick and it was on its knees already standing back up far out of Jon’s range. Jon began to breath harder.

Jon felt his vision starting to darken and he idly touched his side. It felt frozen like ice and Jon knew if he looked at it, it would appear as of his whole side had frostbite. Jon bit his cheek hard to focus when the White Walker reengaged.

_How do you beat something that only needs one cut to see you dead? I have to be quick._

Jon unsteadily beat off the attacks. His eyes searched desperately for an opening but he found none. His speed was beginning to wane and his own bouts were weakening. The White Walker’s eyes were eerily devoid of any emotion.

The eyes were more shocking then the blade that suddenly tore through his stomach when his guard opened for another strike. Jon’s blade slipped from his hands as he crumpled into the snow. His vision fell to darkness and he heard the cry of a dead dragon, _roaring_.

Jon woke up gasping. His vision was unfocused and he struggled to breath. Jon snapped out of his bed shivering, his hand clutching his stomach where the blade had pierced him. Sunlight poured out of his window and cold draft of summer snow kissed his bare skin.

_Just a dream,_ Jon thought. His heart was pumping furiously. _A dream._

Jon took a deep breath and tried to regain some control. _But it wasn’t any normal dream_.

Jon shook his head and grimaced at the now cold sticky sweat that clung to him. His bed was still warm and inviting although slightly damp but he knew he would find no more rest in it. It was already mid-day he could tell he had slept enough. The training yard was where he should be now. Between his brother and sister, it was a wonder why he hadn’t been woken up earlier.

But perhaps it was best no one had come to wake him. _This is what I had to see._ Jon realized. He used to be a boy dreaming that dream. But he had been too young and he had _died_ every time he confronted that monster. _I still do._ Yet, it wasn’t coincidence now he dreamed of it again, just like when he dreamt of the heart tree after confronting the direwolf.

_The Wolf and storm weren’t a coincidence. Neither was the cave. The_ painting _in the cave._

_You must go back._ A distant cry echoed.

When he was younger, he had tried to uncover the secrets of that dream, but childish wants had distracted him and he had forgotten about it all. The hall of kings had faded into the past alongside fears of white walkers and ice spiders that Old Nan use to tell them.

But those were White Walkers. He knew it. He _felt_ their blade. He _saw_ their army. They were _real just as his dream was… and so was that city. So was that hall._ Those things weren’t meant to be real. But they were. If he went north and sought it out, Jon did not doubt he would find it.

Above all though, it meant only one thing.

Jon looked outside of his open window. He looked to the north. There was a great wall of ice out there, guarding the _realms of men._ Past that was the Land of Always Winter and in those lands, was a city. A city of white stone, a city built by men _,_ where the _dead_ ruled.

_I must go back to the cave. I need to find my answers._

***

Jon road at sunrise. He told the guards he was off for a hunt. Jon was glad his father gave him the day off, allowing him ample cover to retreat to the cave.

Jon hiked through the woods fast. The snows were beginning to subside but they were still too deep for a horse. He passed the black stone without a thought and entered the thicker forest, making great haste for the cave. The path was one he had committed to memory both from his trek in dreams and reality. Jon hurried along it without great problem.

He found the Heart Tree relatively soon and slipped beneath its roots. He ignored the heat, the damp air and his own ragged breath. He had to begin to uncover this. For the good of the realm, for his people! The dream for the Heart tree had been real. It was safe to assume that then the dream of the White Walkers was real. It was obvious that this was all connected to the cave that _he was painted on._

Jon entered the cave and he sought out the image. It was him. He could tell. The blue blade and the familiar stance were all etched into the depiction. He could see now the form of White Walker clearer and the pale dullness he had mistaken for thousands of years of slow decay _was_ its color.

His dream was etched into a cave filled with an ancient message, a word that held some sort of great significance. _His dream._ It was meant for him.

Jon hastily took out an empty worn tomb and begin to transcribe the texts he saw. He copied the single bold rune and all the other lines of calligraphy. He wrote as much as he could. He wrote until his hand eventually began to throb and his torch began to sputter.

Jon realized many hours had passed by then. He closed the book with a promise to return and copy more. He would return until he had it all. Until then he would go back to Winterfell and begin to figure out what the ancient words meant.

He had to learn what this all meant. The desire, the need to know was like a madness burning hotter in Jon. If it was all true…

He took once last glance at the painting and its single word. Jon left with that promise to finish his work here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to SableCold at SB for pointing out some errors in Chapter 2.


	4. The Raven and the Crow

**Chapter 3**

**The Raven and the Crow**

Old Nan use to tell Jon and his siblings the stories of the old Kings of Winter. The greatest of them was Jon’s forefather: Brandon the Builder. He had rallied all of the First Men and the Children of the Forest against the harbingers of winter: Demons of ice and death. The Others were said to control the dead like puppets on a string and had brought forth a winter that lasted nearly a generation.

But those were stories told to frighten small children. No, Jon was a man grown at fourteen years of age and he had learned to not be afraid a long time ago. It’s said bastards grow up fast and under the harsh watch of Lady Catelyn Stark, it was true.

Now, he wished he had paid more attention to those stories. Perhaps they had some sort of hint to get him started.

A week. For a week Jon went back to the cave to finish his transcriptions and for a week Jon had been unable to figure out a _single_ clue of what the words in the cave meant, much less that single rune beneath the depiction of Jon _himself._

Jon groaned in frustration from where he sat. Half a dozen worn books and other notes were scattered across his solar. Ancient tomes from the library about First Men languages were splayed out on his bed and in an unorganized heap in his drawer.

It was frustrating that _none_ of the books had clear examples of written First Men texts. Only brief oral translations had been made with careless notes and interpretations that even Jon knew were wrong. Jon cursed the fact that the Maesters that wrote these books were southern Andals and obviously held a deep bias and lack of interest in truly understanding the ancient past of the First Men. Jon also cursed all the foolish men that had ever set Winterfell’s library aflame when the castle was sacked, leaving less knowledge to be passed on.

He was thoroughly frustrated and annoyed. He still had chores to do and other duties. He had begun to skip his lessons with Maester Luwin and rush his duties so he had more time to solve the runes. More so, his siblings often sought him out to speak or bring him out for something. Granted, he understood they were merely worried about him. Jon hadn’t been necessarily subtle about his change in habit. Yet, the night when he dreamt of the White Walkers and the moment of his epiphany regarding the cave had shaken him. Jon didn’t care about being discreet. He just wanted to understand the texts regardless of the growing concern of his family.

Perhaps it was a foolish thing to do. Jon could not find it himself to truly care though.

So instead he shrugged his sister and brothers off, giving them vague reasons why he was doing what he was doing. He knew Arya was growing upset with him and Jon had silently vowed to make it up to her.

Jon pushed the books aside. He looked out the open window and saw that the sun was receding from the sky, painting the heavens a mirage of colors. Bells chimed in the distance. Dinner was around the corner and still he had made no progress. Jon sighed as he got up.

***

Another month passed and much changed for Jon. As his efforts to uncover the secrets of the cave began to slow down to a standstill, he ended up brooding more and more. It was seemingly becoming more likely that Jon would have better luck learning runes and ancient languages North of the Wall rather than at Winterfell. Jon had become a regular at the library and he was always there reading much to his siblings’ disappointment. His time in the godswood increased as it offered a quiet place for Jon to brood.

This had cultivated into enough of an apparent change in his habits that the whole castle had begun to wonder about his dealings. Servants often asked him what he was reading and others gave sly remarks. Theon had begun to use it as a source of japes and Lady Stark further reprimanded him for his lessening quality in his duties. Robb of course decided that if Jon was to brood about his self-appointed project, he could do so while helping everyone else. Eventually Jon agreed to put aside his books for some time and spend his days working again.

Jon’s father had also taken a sharp notice to his actions. Jon had caught his father watching him numerous times with a far off look in his eyes—worry displayed across his face like he had seen a ghost. Whatever concern Jon’s father had though was for naught as Lord Stark simply did not have the time to truly confront Jon. The great storm from more than a month ago had rallied it’s bannermen to the siege of Winterfell: Finances, Letters, and Concerned Vassals.

The mountain of work had swallowed the Stark Patriarch and soon Jon’s father had decided it was a good time to invite the Lords for a feast and begin to overgo some of the harvest accounts. It was obvious that the freak blizzard had convinced his father to begin preparing the north for a far harsher Winter than any had expected.

The harvest festival itself was one of the few frivolous that the Northerners partook in. It was meant to be a final celebration of summer before an impeding winter. More lords answered Winterfell’s call this time then the last few harvest festivals.

When Jon awoke on the day of the festival, the castle was busier than he had ever seen. The anticipated arrival of dozens of powerful Northern Lords had the Starks employing numerous extra servants to assist in the arduous task of preparing for the grand feast. Jon had decided that he would take the time to help further. He would continue his search after the festivals.

Snarling direwolf banners hung from the walls and towers. Festival flags, brightly colored from rich reds to vibrant blues dangled from open windows and were tied to elevated ropes. Wagons were entering Winterfell through the main gates with a fevered pace. Goods and food had been stockpiled in large quantities as the chefs drooled at the sacks of exotic northern spices that entered their pantries.

His siblings were busy too. Robb was off learning how to manage a feast besides their father for when the day came that Robb had to perform the same task as Lord Stark in the future. Sansa was merrily doing the same thing beside her lady mother while Arya was practically dragged through the lesson. Bran had been sent to his lessons with Maester Luwin in an attempt to keep him occupied. Rickon was off with Old Nan, no doubt.

As for Jon, he was doing his part. He assisted the servants and labored throughout the day. He moved crates, set tables, and lifted sacks. By the time the first banner arrived, a Black battle axe on a silver field—House Cerwyn—Jon was already sweaty and tired.

Slowly though out the next few hours, more and more banners appeared out on the plains outside of Winterfell. The Mormonts with their Black Bear, A White Sun for the Karstarks, the flayed man harbingering the Boltons and dozens of other banners arrived, hailing from the Stony Shore to the Grey Hills. The columns of horsemen and their parties entered the courtyard to be swiftly taken away to their assigned quarters by Lady Stark.

Within the next hours, the sound of merriment hung in the air. Men and Women danced while children squealed in delight. His father had yet to give his welcoming speech but Jon was not welcome at the Great Hall. Lady Stark had made sure of it as a punishment for a fight he had with Theon the other day. Theon had taken some of Jon’s notes and torched them, claiming that if Jon wanted to write bullshit, he was welcome to do so at the Citadel.

Jon didn’t care about the feast though. He had grown used to being kept from them for one reason or the other. Rather, Jon had taken to enjoying the festival in Winter town. He had grown up in Winter town as much as he did in Winterfell. The two places were almost synonymous. The people there were too, enjoying themselves. As well, Jon didn’t really want to mingle with the lords of the realm much less their children. Very few acknowledged him other than bastard and it always left him in a sour mood.

With the main gates to the castle open, Lord Stark’s immediate subjects moved back and forth between the castle grounds and the town’s crowds. Stories were shared and new memories were made. Jon took part as well. He talked with the old farmers and sheep herders he had met while riding out after the blizzard some moons ago. He exchanged tales with young boys who wanted to grow up to be Stark Men-at-arms. He even let the occasional young woman take him for a dance. Although, Jon wasn’t very good at that.

By a point, Jon began to suspect he had one ale too many. Still, he wasn’t as close to being drunk like the men who toasted and cheered in the taverns. He even had to help a guardsman break up a fight that had started as friendly banter and transitioned into drunken rage.

As the night got cooler, Jon started to think about returning to the castle. However, he wanted to take care of something first. He had promised to make up his lack of time with his little sister.

And it would be a good farewell gift.

Jon had come to realize that if he couldn’t find any clues regarding the cave, then he would have to leave Winterfell to seek out his answers. The Nights Watch still beckoned to him and it was becoming more apparent that was the path he would have to take and much sooner than he had anticipated.

_After all, it’s all tied up with what’s North of the Wall._

The Smith Mikken typically worked all day. When night came, he retired to his small shop outside the walls. In the mornings he would sell some goods before returning to work in Winterfell. Jon had noticed earlier that he wasn’t at the feast and he suspected he was bartering for some special wares in the market while selling the few odd trinkets he had crafted the last year.

The Market square was filled and crowded. Yet, Mikken’s storefront was clearly marked and easy to spot over the heads of hundreds of people and tent tops. Opening the thick wooden door, Jon gave a nod to Harold, the shop guard who stood in the corner.

The man was a grizzly fighter and a true monster with a mace. Jon always enjoyed the challenge sparring with him. “Oi, Snow. What ya here for and not causing trouble with your siblings?”

“Caused a little too much trouble with Theon, yesterday. I’m not welcomed at the Hall tonight.”

The man rose an eyebrow. “Squids are a troublesome lot and tend to get ya in deep shit.” He said in his infinite wisdom.

“Ah, Jon,” Mikken said as he came out of the back room. He smiled. “What are you here for today, my boy? I heard you got in a bad tumble with Theon?”

“Aye. I rather not talk of it.”

“Very well than. Can’t make the customer unhappy before I start haggling after all.” Mikken chuckled as he picked up a steel longsword from the counter. “Did your blade chip again? I could fix it and lend you this beauty while I fix your old one?”

Jon waved his hand. “It is about a sword, but not for me. I want to commission a blade from you.”

“I see,” Mikken realized. “Want your own new blade before heading to the Wall?”

“No, I need something small, for my sister.” Jon whispered the last bit. There was no need to be overheard and Lady Stark getting ear of it. Or him getting in more trouble.

Mikken started incredulously. “A blade for that girl? She’s all skin and bones. She couldn’t swing a broadsword if she tried.”

“Aye, you’re right. But I don’t want to get her a sword like that. I read a bit on the water dancers across the sea. I figured that a blade like that would fit her better.” It was true. At some point he began to look through more exotic books in his search for answers and he came across Essos fighting styles by chance.

Mikken thought for a second before a gleam appeared in his eyes. “A rapier!”

“Yes,” Jon agreed. “How long would it take?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be on the top of my list of priorities, knowing how much you can pay me. I already have enough work on my hands. But I can get it done in a couple of moons. A blade like that takes a little more time to craft, too.”

“That can work. How much?”

“A dozen dragons.” Mikken said. Jon furrowed his brow at the price. “Assurance should Lady Stark catch wind of this, Jon.”

Jon reached into his purse. “Alright.” He pulled out and counted twelve of the gold coins and handed them to the Smith. Mikken thanked Jon, “Your secret is safe with me. The little lady won’t know until you hand it to her.”

Jon thanked the older smith and left the shop. The cold summer winds greeted him upon exiting and Jon knew that tonight was going to be colder than normal. It was best to get back to the castle now. The majority of the lords would be in their cups and Robb would had finished attending to his duties in socializing with the future lords and ladies of the North.

Robb would still be up for more wine too, tonight. Jon, after all was allowed to drink as much as he desired where Robb was allowed one cup a night. Jon had sneaked out a couple of skins of Dornish red before escaping the castle and he was willing to help his brother get drunk. Maybe even Arya would join and she would get to taste some of the richer wines than the watered-down drinks served at the high tables.

***

Jon sat on his bed, waiting for Robb. The night was still filled with the sound of merriment. But Jon was elsewhere as he once more found himself pondering his dreams and the cave.

Jon sighed as he looked through another book, flipping the pages mindlessly. _What am I searching for? What do I need to know? Where do I even begin?_

Jon kept asking that question. He thought about the picture in the cave, his dream written out for him, and the one single word drawn below it. Nothing came up that answered it. Sighing, Jon grasped his forehead as it began to throb. _I will have to go north for my answers._

He put the book aside. It was then Jon heard a light knocking on his door.

“Come in,” Jon called as he rubbed his tired eyes.

The door swung open revealing his brother, Robb. “Thank the gods that’s over.” He said in obvious relief. “Got the wine?”

“Bottom drawer.” Jon replied. His brother reached down and opened up the one spare cabinet Jon had and took out the two skins. “You’re having some right?” Robb handed Jon a skin.

“No,” Jon waved his hand in rejection. “I think I had enough ale tonight.” Robb retracted the wineskin and put it to the side. “Well, your loss.”

Jon’s brother took a large gulp of the wine before giving out a long burp. “Gods, it’s always like the Seven Hells opened up right under me out there. I hate being the focus of all that attention. Doesn’t help mother is watching me like a hawk.”

Jon shrugged as Robb continued to rant about the Lords or Ladies who seemingly wanted to know every moment of his private life. It was a common occasion for Robb to vent on Jon. The heir of House Stark despised politics like their father and hated how _proper_ he had to act with guests about, especially when the young daughters of their father’s bannermen were hovering somewhere close. The only time Rob felt he could be himself was when he was with the wilder bannerman of House Stark, like the Umbers.

But Jon couldn’t really focus on his brother’s words. He did try, but having settled down for the night let the last few weeks of no progress creep back into his mind. The runes were stuck in his head again leaving Jon rather melancholy.

“What’s wrong, Jon? Is it still Theon?” His brother noticed as he sat down in Jon’s chair.

Jon grimaced. Jon wondered if he should tell Robb about the cave. _No. I shouldn’t._ _Robb will just get more concerned and get into my business._ Jon decided to continue deflecting Robb’s questions, “It’s nothing, just tired, a lot on my mind… and a little drunk.”

“It seems brother, that you _haven’t_ had enough to drink if that’s the case. Wine will take whatever it is off your mind, I heard. You will be having no dreams at all.”

Jon grunted in response. How nice it would be not to have a horrible dream for once. His nights had come to be filled with more terror and anxiety than Jon could recall.

“You need your sleep,” Robb continued. “Father spoke to me earlier in the feast. He was looking for you. Tomorrow, while the lords sleep in and the rest return to their holds, he wants to talk to you.”

Jon considered his brother’s words. Aye, he had no choice in that. If their father wanted to speak to him while Winterfell was under siege by his bannermen, his father must had considered it to be truly important.

“Aright. hand me the skin, brother.” Jon decided.

Robb threw the hefty wine bag at Jon. Jon caught it with ease and took his own swig. The familiar taste of Dornish Red graced his tongue and Jon savored it.

“How was Winter town? What were you doing down there?” Robb asked. “Must be better than it was here. Gods curse whoever of our ancestors decided it was a good idea to hold these bloody feasts anyways.”

Jon thought on the question. He’d rather not share much. Robb could keep a secret of course, but he wanted the gift for Arya to be his and only his. “It was fine.” Jon settled on.

“Just fine?” Robb’s right eyebrow raised before he sighed.

“You’ve been acting strange recently Jon,” Robb said. “You have been coming to the yard beyond tired. You stopped attending our lessons with Maester Luwin and started slacking on your duties until I pulled you out of this place.” Robb gestured around the room. “You have barricaded yourself in here and the library reading nonsense.

Jon silently cursed. “Yes, well…”

“Is it about the Night’s Watch?” Robb asked. “Everything you have is about things Beyond the Wall.”

Jon’s paled a bit and swallowed. “Aye, something like that.”

Robb leaned forward, “What did I tell you about the Nights Watch, brother?”

“It’s none of your business, Stark.” Jon gritted out. He didn’t want Robb wrapped up in this mess until Jon himself knew what was going on nor did he want to talk about the Watch.

“Fine…” Robb slumped back into his seat before a smirk came across his lips. “So, did you meet any girl down in Winter Town?”

“Robb…” Jon moaned as his face turned red. Robb laughed.

“Nothing?”

“Aye, I danced some.”

“But did you stay to talk?”

Jon didn’t answer.

“One of these days, brother, I will get you stuck in a room with a girl with no way out until you at least talk to her. Maybe then you will stop running away from every girl who bends down just a _little_ too much when pouring you your ale.” Robb shook his head at Jon’s blushing face.

“Will you shut up?” Jon choked out, laughing.

Robb snorted, “Shut up? When I’m dead.”

***

Jon jumped off his bed when the door rattled. The bright light made his head ache and he felt tired. The resounding knocks woke Robb up as well. Groggily, Jon opened the door to see his father. Lord Stark wore his Lord’s face but it melted slightly when his eyes moved from Jon to Robb who was trying to hide the wineskins.

“Boys,” He chuckled lightly before his face turned stern again. “Come, Robb. You need to get ready for the day else your mother will have your hide. Jon, meet me in my solar.”

Robb left quietly, trailing after their father. Jon moved slowly to get dressed. Robb had been right; No dreams about caves, wolves, or dead cities had greeted Jon last night. But in return, Jon now had a hangover.

Jon put on a heavy leather jerkin and hastily groomed his unruly hair. He left the room intent to meet with his father.

***

Lord Stark’s solar was clean and organized. Jon fidgeted a bit under his father’s gaze as he closed the door behind him. His father put aside a paper he had been reading.

“Jon.” He said at last. Father and son exchanged looks. “Yes, Lord Stark?” Jon asked.

“What is going on?” Lord Stark said without preamble. “You were silent and locked in your room for nearly a moon before you came out to help with the festival. You have been acting up since you returned from the rides after the blizzard. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Jon said, a little too fast. Jon felt heat rise in his cheeks.

“Nothing.” his father drawled. “Nothing is training in the yard without a care like the boy you are. Nothing is attending your lessons with Maester Luwin and not skipping them to read dusty tomes. Nothing is getting a night’s rest and not staying up beside a candle all night.”

Jon pursed his lips but Jon refused to budge. “It’s nothing truly important.”

“Did you see anything on the rode while performing your duties?”

“No.”

“Jon, I refuse to believe you are acting as you are for nothing.”

“I’m researching.” Jon bit out at last.

Ned leaned back. “Researching what?”

Jon shrugged then, feeling it a bit easy to tell a sort of the truth. Afterall it’s what Robb had thought Jon had been doing. Why not say that? The Cave and his dreams were his secrets to be kept. At least until he had some sort of proof. Else he would appear a madman. “The Nights Watch, First Men languages. If I am to be a man of the Night’s Watch, then I should also know how the Wildlings talk and write to be a good ranger, yes?”

“I saw some of the books.”

“And I should know their stories as well. Fables, even.”

Jon’s father watched him critically. A small smile appeared. “Aye, that’s good thinking. But you have time for that. Most of what you seek will be learned in time when you are north of the wall, not from old books. Have you been acting as you were because you feel rushed? Do you feel as if I’m pushing you out too soon? Is that why you were stuffing your head with so many books?”

“No not at all, my Lord Stark.”

“My wife isn’t here son.”

“Yes, father.”

Lord Stark sighed. “Go, Jon. Continue to read as you see fit. Just know you have time. There is no need to hold up as if you’re in a siege. And Jon?”

Jon turned to look at his father. “You are always welcome at Winterfell. So long as it may be, remember that. You may not have my name but you have my blood.”

“Yes, father.” Jon repeated as he slipped out of the room.

***

A sennight passed before all the lords for the Harvest festival left, having sorted out the details to prepare for the coming winter. The work in cleaning Winterfell had been long but offered Jon plenty of time to think on his progress and his actions.

Jon knelt before the great heart tree in Winterfell’s godswood. His head was bowed humbly and from appearance he was calm and collected. Truthfully, he was beyond frustration and ready to strike out. _They are real. And every day I waste time trying to learn more of them. I cannot begin a great search without suspicion nor can I mention it until I have proof. I cannot leave so soon for the Night’s Watch now without causing my father worry. I am stuck._

Jon fervently begged the gods for help. A sign, anything to guide him to that first string of clues. _What is the city beyond the wall? That throne and hall? Why is that I feel like I’ve been there before but I know nothing of it?_ Jon knew it was all tied to that White City, the cave, and the painting.

The trees rustled in answer and after a time Jon began to feel a little too cold. He looked up to the crying face carved into the heart tree. Red sap dripped down slow as molasses.

The wind began to grow stronger as a groan came from the tree. Jon flinched back as the godswood began to pick up with the sound of shaking leaves.

Jon gasped at a string of low words emitted from the ancient face of the heart tree. They were low and hard to hear, guttural even. He got closer to the tree but the gust of wind masked the voice. Jon pleaded to the gods to let down the wind so he could hear their message, but the wind did not let down. The voice became further muddled before it vanished entirety. The wind died down at last and at its end a crow cawed, mockingly, before flying westward.

Jon sat before the tree frightened, confused and disappointed. But then excitement began to bubble within him. There had been a voice. There was an answer but perhaps Jon was not yet ready to hear it?

_“Fire!”_

Jon whipped around in shock. _“Fire!”_ croaked a raven high in the tree.

Jon looked passed the raven for smoke and listened for the ringing of bells but he heard and saw nothing of the like. _“Fire!”_ The raven continued to croak. It was then he realized...

“Fire?” Jon questioned beyond confused. Why that?

_“Fire!”_ The Raven croaked once more before it slipped from its perch and flew off. Jon watched its small shape disappear into the sky.

Jon thought on the word in that moment. _Fire._ Standing alone in the godswood, he knew then what it meant. “Fire,” He whispered. That was his clue. He needed to know what fire was written in the old tongues.

***

Once more was Jon scavenging through books. This time though he knew what he was looking for. Within the Wintefell library he had been in such a rush he hadn’t even bothered to take the tome back to his room. He had taken a seat at a table and immediately flipped open the book.

Words danced across the page as he looked for anything about Fire. It was like a rush, a hunt and for once Jon understood how some men might enjoy reading books and old scrolls all day.

“Fire,” Jon whispered, excited. “Fire,”

There were many different words for it. He had uncovered an extraordinarily large old tome. It was a study on languages and collected known translations both oral and written drafted by a collection of maesters but it was poorly organized. It was stuffed with tales and folklore as Maesters had their own little reasonings for each word and its corresponding translation.

Jon’s fingers danced across the page. A great loop with a cross through it was displayed on the page. “Magnar means Lord in the more common Skagos dialect of older Northern tongue,” Jon read to himself and he felt idle humor as that meant the Lord of House Magnar of Skagos simply meant Lord of Lord. A few hundred pages later and another symbol caught his interest. It was prominent on the page and Jon mumbled it under his breath. “Sygerrik, Deceiver. Thought to have originated from the name of an ancient northern sorcerer who had tricked several great lords of the realm. Such tales… Hmm.”

Jon continued to search the book, picking up odd facts here and there. Eventually he came across a small section of translations for fire and flame. “’Dracarys, fire in Valyrian, originated from the’—no, that’s not it.” Jon ignored the Valyrian translation and the written form. Flipping past some more dry old pages of Essosian languages, he continued his search. He sorted through the many different ways fire could be written or spoken and ignored their respective lore.

“What are you doing?” Jon jumped out of his seat in shock before turning to glare at his little sister. “Arya, don’t sneak up on me.”

“You looked focused. When else would I sneak up on you?” Arya grinned.

Jon scowled but couldn’t help nod at the reasoning. “Well… I suppose that’s fair.”

“Again, what are you reading?” Arya stood closer to Jon to look at the book, peaking over his shoulder. “Stories?”

“Translations. I’m searching for a word.”

“Why?” Arya looked at Jon. “You never read. You’ve been reading too much and stopped playing with me. When are we going to practice swordplay again?”

“I’m searching for something important, Arya. But I promise I will take you out for some sword play some time. I promise I will make it up.” Arya scowled at Jon’s words before taking the book roughly from the table. She began to flip through the pages.

“Arya!” Jon exclaimed, attempting to grab the tome from her hand. A sudden fear that Arya might rip the fragile pages raced through him.

Arya frowned. “I just want to read it!” She stated as she pushed Jon aside.

“Arya, can I have it back? Please? It’s fragile!”

“Brisingr,” Arya read suddenly, “meaning fire in a rather archaic tongue found North of the Wall. Its contents were found on a wall with an interesting painting—Hey!”

Jon swiped the book form his sister much to her complaint.

“This book is old, Arya. If it was torn what else would I do?” He huffed as his eyes flickered down to the open page in his hand. Jon continued from where his sister left off, keeping his side turned to her and the book high to prevent her from taking back.

As she struggled to grab it, Jon read, “An interesting painting found by a maester of the Nightfort, it depicted two men seemed to be at battle. One held what looked to be a colored blade which is suspected to be part of some northern tale…”

_Wait._ Jon grew excited and his mumbled words began a soundless whisper as he read intently. _Maester Ford translated a minority of the text as only half of the text was seemingly present and even less was clear enough to be translated._ Jon looked lower and he spotted the rune translated. It was an exact match of the rune found beneath the painting in the cave. He had his lead.

Jon whooped much to Arya’s surprise. “I found it!” Maester Ford had uncovered the word and now Jon had something to refer to translate the rest of the cave. “No, I found that!” Arya said before also saying, “Found _what?_ ” Her voice was colored with bewilderment by her brother’s enthusiasm.

“Fire!” Jon all but yelled, “Brisingr! I have the written word for it. I have the translation!” Jon left shortly after intent to grab the rest of his notes, leaving his sister behind wondering what she had just witnessed and perhaps, began.

***

Jon stayed in his room for the rest of the night translating the cave’s texts.

The fire had long burnt out in his room and he had run through three sticks of candles. None of that mattered anymore as the sun was rising, offering fresh light to let him read. Jon had never felt so satisfied and excited. The last time he felt like this was when he beat Theon for the first time in the yard.

The words were still too spread about to paint a full story. Jon had translated as much of the text found in the cave as he could but the Maester’s translations had been few. Regardless he had uncovered some words and a single full sentence.

_The blood of Then, Now, and Soon._

Jon had contemplated that line for a good time. Perhaps it was some sort of connection to a lineage or a people? Jon had decided though he would need more resources to translate the rest. Perhaps there were fuller texts of Maester Ford’s work at the Citadel or the Night’s Watch. Jon supposed he could ask Maester Luwin for help.

He took a bite of some bread and took a swig of water before returning to his reading. None of still explained why the rune for fire held such great weight in the cave but Jon vowed to understand why.

That’s when the door sounded with a heavy knock.

“Enter!” Jon said. A moment later the door swung open to reveal Robb. His face was uncharacteristically solemn. “Jon, get ready.”

Jon was confused. “What, why?”

“Outriders found a Night’s Watch deserter. Father had decided to have us accompany him to witness the execution.”


	5. The Stark Medallion

**Chapter 4**

**The Stark Medallion**

_Shovel, drop, repeat._ Jon’s eyes were without tears but they burned all the same. It was a somber cold in the Godswood but Jon had gotten used to it. The hole began to fill up and more and more did the little wish of his began to wither and die.

_You will train them yourselves, you will feed them yourselves, and if they die, you will bury them yourselves._

They had found the pups beside their dead mother, killed by the antlers of a charging stag on their way back from the execution of the deserter. The deserter had pleaded his case, crying about how he had seen the White Walkers. It had scared Jon to know he wasn’t the only one to know the truth. Dread had seeped into his bones when the former Nights Watch man was executed without anyone believing his words. Not even his Lord father gave a moment of consideration. _A Mad man sees what he wants to see._

It was the first time Jon doubted his father’s decision. _The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword,_ Jon thought. His father didn’t know though and would not believe it until he saw it himself.

_But he was a deserter, anyways. I have to be smarter._

And he had. When Jon had found the pups, he and Robb had exchanged looks. Although it was apparent that Robb was cautious to get even near them considering their last time meeting a Direwolf, Jon knew they had a part to play in the days to come. It was a sign, a gift from the gods just like the raven’s hint in the godswood. He wouldn’t allow his father to make the same mistake he did with the warning from the deserter.

_There are five pups. One for each of the Stark children. The Direwolf is a sigil of your house_. He had pleaded. _They were meant to have them._

Yes, Jon had saw to it that his siblings had what they needed to confront the growing darkness at his own disappointment. He could not be a Stark in that moment.

_Then I found the pup that should had been mine._ The white direwolf pup was dead, curled under a root, far from its pack. It’s red eyes lifeless. Jon had resigned himself to the fact he was not to have a pup by then. Jon had come to realize his future was tied with the painting in the cave—With the great wolf that had led him there.

It doesn’t mean it hadn’t hurt all the same.

_Although it was heartening to have Robb beat Theon for his cruel japes._

When the sun faded beyond the horizon at last and the burial was finished, Jon wiped his dry tears and left the Godswood. The heart tree cried behind him.

***

Jon dreamt he was flying. He could see the wall beneath him and its looming shadow cast by the pale moon that hung in the night sky. Northward beyond snowy hills and forests was only darkness. Jon felt hot and warm, sweltering almost despite the heavy dark clouds he soared through. He tilted to the side and his wings unfurled, guiding him to the Sunset Sea all the while hail and cold condensation nipped at him.

In the distance he saw a crow fast approaching. It hung low to the ground and flew westward by the thick wooden walls that could only belong to Deepwood Motte. Jon could smell the salt of the sea on the breeze that trailed the crow.

_Curious._

He flew lower, to meet the crow but the small bird saw him. It swooped deeper into the wolfs wood, hiding in the foliage of the trees. Jon gave chase but he was too large and quickly began to lose track of the crow.

_I can’t let it escape._ Jon flew higher over the tree tops, struggling to see the crow. But the small bird twisted and turned evading Jon. Jon breathed in frustration as heat bubbled up within him. He pulled away back into the clouds once the crow vanished into the depths of the Wolfswood.

Jon pushed his wings harder and he soared higher. He went ahead and tracked the path the crow would had kept if Jon hadn’t been seen. Ahead he could saw Winterfell. _But why, Winterfell?_

A moment later Jon woke up to his bedroom door creaking slightly as a light knock rapped against it. Jon got out of his bed ignoring the sense of anxiety that had struck him as well as his confusion. _I dreamt… I was flying? I dreamt I was…_

Another rap at the doors ripped Jon from his thoughts and went to unbar the door. He tugged the door open to see Arya with her small direwolf pup.

“Can I come in?” She said with a whisper. It was late.

Jon nodded as she moved past him and sat on his bed, moving books and notes away. He didn’t miss her curious look about the mess in his room. Her face brightened a moment later. “I know what I’m going to name her.”

“And what would that be, little sister?” Jon asked as he closed his door.

“Nymeria.” Her eyes flashed in delight. “For the Dornish warrior-queen.”

Jon chuckled as he sat beside her. “I didn’t know that Direwolves could be named for a southern Queen, much less one from as far south as _Dorne_.”

“And who said there were rules to naming Direwolves?” Arya asked with an air of haughtiness.

Jon took the small pup out of his sister’s hands. “Well I don’t believe there has been many people to have one that weren’t northern or died a thousand years ago.”

Arya’s face scrunched in though as too deny it, but that was all too true. “At least I didn’t name mine _Lady._ What was Sansa thinking… you know what, she wasn’t thinking at all.” Arya said earning a chuckle from Jon, “Anyways, Bran told me how it was you that convinced father to let us have them.”

“I didn’t, that was the work of the gods.”

“Then the gods worked through you, old soothsayer.” Arya teased.

Jon never smiled half as much as he did when he was with Arya. “Aye, they do. They also tell me how it’s far too late for you to be up.”

“Sleep can wait. I wanted you to be the first to hear her name.” Arya said as the small wolf whined in his arms. “And I wanted you to have this.”

Jon perked up as Arya handed him a necklace. A Stark wolf penchant dangled from the fine linked metal threads. A snarling wolf was engraved in the metal and it looked to had been haphazardly dunked in white paint. A white wolf.

“Jewelry, for me?” Jon laughed.

“Well, Mother got me it about a year ago… But I don’t wear it. I won’t wear any jewelry, never. That’s _Sansa’s_ thing, not mine. But we all got wolves… and I thought…” Her eyes flickered downcast before rising to look up at Jon’s. “You should have had one.”

Jon smiled wryly. He grasped the penchant tight in his hand. “Thank you, little sister… but I’m not a Stark. The gods are as cruel as they are kind.”

Arya scoffed. She saw that he had disillusions of the albino pup as well. Only she believed that the gods were far too cruel to deny him such a gift. “You’re a Stark, Jon. Even if the world doesn’t want to admit it.”

Jon’s tight smile turned into a grimace. “I’d rather not discuss of that now, Arya. Just like you would rather not talk of marrying.”

“That’s different, stupid. You being a Stark is a _fact._ Marriage for me _isn’t._ ” Arya retorted all knowingly. “Besides, I also came because, well, I was thinking about the Direwolf we came across that day.”

Jon leaned back into his furs. “What of it?”

Arya stroked Nymeria in deep thought. “Do you think… Do you think the Direwolf we saw that day was their father?”

Jon tilted his head in contemplation. Direwolves haven’t been seen south of the wall in centuries. If they were now, it had to have only been that pack else there would have been rumors of sightings earlier on. As well, the wolf had the same coloring of the dead pup of the litter. “I suppose.”

“I just wonder why their father left them.” Arya ruffled Nymeria’s fur, “Why would it leave its children to die?”

“It couldn’t have nurtured them Arya. It simply didn’t have the means… or maybe it just didn’t know. There were no animal prints other than the mother and the Stag. The mother may had gone on a hunt and never returned.”

“It’s not right,” Arya said. “At least the gods let the pups live… well most of them.” She eyed Jon apologetically. He sighed, “As I said Arya, only for the Starks. Not me.”

Arya scoffed, “You are my brother. No name changes that, Jon. Stop being stupid.”

“Sometimes truths are stupid though, Arya. A bad one at that, but a truth nevertheless.” Jon rebuked.

“Well if your so set in believing a _lie._ Then why not… We can share her.” Arya said with resolution. Jon looked at her with hesitation. “…share her?”

“If the gods are so cruel to not let you have a direwolf and you are too stupid to believe you are a Stark, then, we will share her. You and me.”

“Arya, I don’t think I can do that.” Jon said.

Arya stared with slowly brimming frustration evident in her eyes. “Why?”

Jon stared back. “I think you know.”

Arya looked away with a scowl. “Why do you have to go?”

“I have to seek my place at the Wall. I have work to do there… and I don’t belong here, Arya.”

“You do belong here. You matter to me,” She said her voice catching.

Jon took the pup and laid it in his furs. He hugged his sister tightly. “You matter to me,” she repeated. “And Robb and Bran and Father. Even baby Rickon. Don’t go.” Her eyes held tears in them.

“Arya, the Night’s Watch is where I can find honor. Where I can be something more than a bastard. It’s where I must go to protect all of you.”

“And live up there in the cold, _alone._ Just like Uncle Benjen? I don’t understand how there is honor in that. How that’s protecting us.”

“Protecting you and the realm? The North? How is there no honor in that? Arya, you don’t understand right now but I have found something. Something terrible and I must go to understand it. My time in Winterfell is ending soon.”

“Leave that to others, then. Promise me you will stay, there is honor serving _here_ and being my _brother._ ”

“I can’t make that promise Arya. I just know I can say I love you and that I have to do this. There are greater reasons why I must join the Watch—Why I must become a ranger.” He had to leave. Yes, some of it was about finding honor as a bastard but the truth of it was gaining the tools he needed. He needed to further understand the texts. The Maester’s translations would only go so far. He had to go beyond the wall. To uncover the truth of this menace.

_The White City awaits me._

Arya gaze was damning. “If you loved me, then you would stay.” She got, picked up Nymeria and left. Jon sat in an uncomfortable silence. He sighed and got back into bed. Eventually the rest of his night gave way to sleep and restless dreams of dragons, crows and a pale dead city. The white Stark Medallion sat in his hand, cold.

**Author's Note:**

> Posted on Alternate History and Space Battles


End file.
